Rose, in the passionate surge of gratified desire that came with the
sight of them, caught them from him, crushed them up tight against her
breast--and frightened them half to death. So that without
dissimulation, they howled and brought Miss French flying to the rescue.
Rose didn't make a tragedy of it; managed a smile at herself, though she
suspected she'd cry when she got the chance, and subjected her ideas to
an instantaneous revision. They were--_persons_, those two funnily
indignant little mites, with their own ideas, their own preferences, and
the perfectly adequate conviction of being entitled to them. How would
she herself have liked it, to have a total stranger, fifteen feet high
or so, snatch at her like that?
She was rather apologetic all day, and got her reward; especially from
the boy, who was an adventurous and rather truculent baby, much she
fancied, as his father must once have been, and who took to her more
quickly than the girl did. Indeed, the second Rodney fell in love with
her almost as promptly as his father had done before him.
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